


humanity for all the wrong reasons

by wordcountenthusiast



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, I'm Bad At Tagging, Injury, M/M, Minor Violence, honestly i'm sorry for this, send help
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-07 10:35:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19207618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordcountenthusiast/pseuds/wordcountenthusiast
Summary: In which humanity comes at the most convenient times for the most inconvenient reasons.Aziraphale died, leaving Crowley alone on earth. But as events unfold, it seems less and less likely that he's actually dead and more and more likely that there's a way to get him back.





	1. to forget

**Author's Note:**

> I hope everyone enjoyed my cryptic summary and tagging system. It's mostly just because I don't know how to summarize or tag but go off. This will be a four-chapter fic, just in case you didn't see that listed above.
> 
> Please leave kudos and a comment in you enjoy, and I hope to get the next chapter out within the next week or so.

On the night of February 17th, at 11:54, Crowley’s entire world imploded. He had gone in search of Aziraphale, first checking the typical places such as his book shop or the restaurants he liked. He quickly became more desperate, looking every place he could possibly imagine. He tried frantically to ignore the absence of the tug in his chest, the one that always told him that Aziraphale was somewhere on Earth, somewhere alive.

 

The tug was gone.

  
And as little as he wanted to admit it, so was Aziraphale.

 

As the realization slowly pieced itself together in his mind, he drove back to the bookshop, breaking about seventeen and two-thirds laws in his haste. He pushed open the door, the familiar scent of books and candles ruined by the absence of Aziraphale’s enigmatic pull. He only realized that tears were streaking his face when they fell onto his hands, hot and painful.

 

He had gone through this once before, he told himself. It had been okay. But the more he thought about it, the more he knew it was real this time. Aziraphale was dead.

  
And he wasn’t just discorporated. He was really gone.

 

The feeling of helplessness ignited a spark of rage inside Crowley. There was nothing he could do, nothing, nothing nothing, and his best friend, his husband, maybe the only person he ever really loved, loved so desperately that it hurt, was gone. The partner of his existence, of his mind and heart and body and soul, was gone. He didn’t know how it happened, but it had, and it was worse than anything he could imagine.

 

However, the day after was worse. And the day after that was worse. And every day after just got worse and worse and worse, until Crowley couldn’t feel anything anymore. The person he would go to to talk about anything, to do anything, was gone, and no one could replace him. There weren’t any other immortals on Earth, and there wasn’t anyone who understood Crowley the way Aziraphale did. 

 

There wasn’t much for Crowley to do anymore. He couldn’t enjoy any of the activities he and Aziraphale did together, and he couldn’t do anything new either, because he always caught himself thinking about Aziraphale which never failed to bring fresh waves of pain.

 

He was alone, alone in the world and in his own mind and heart, and there was nothing he could do. No mistakes to be fixed. No others who could fill the holes that kept tearing open in his heart.

 

So instead of caring for his plants, or driving the Bentley, or listening to music, or even doing temptations like he normally would, Crowley walked. He walked up and down London, exploring every inch of the city until he knew it like the back of his hand. He could finally turn off his mind and shut out the grief that ate away at his very identity. It was addictive to walk and the distance Crowley put between himself and the world around him and between himself and his own thoughts was enthralling. It got to the point where he was almost never aware, only walking through the world like a specter. When he thought, it was about death. Not Aziraphale’s, but his own. He knew he would never naturally die, but Heaven would probably kill to get their hands on him, and they did have a lot of holy water…

 

It was two or three weeks after Aziraphale’s death that Crowley found himself sitting on a bench, staring blankly at the cobbled square in front of him. The area was lined with trees that had started to regain their leaves. A light dusting of snow lay on the ground, which was a welcome reprieve from the cold, muddy piles that had plagued the city for the last few days. Winter held on to the land with all her might, but the industrialization of the city and rapidly warming planet drove her away faster and faster each year. The air was crisp and cool, but the temperature didn’t affect Crowley. He knew that if Aziraphale was still alive, this would be the type of night that they would have gone to a play or a homey restaurant with a roaring fire, or maybe they would have stayed in, staring at the expansive city below Crowley’s apartment. 

 

He rather enjoyed nights like this with Aziraphale, and even spending them alone, but now the pleasant memories he had of almost-spring nights with the angel were twisted and broken by the grief that had seized his mind.

 

Crowley snapped out of his trance when a bright flash, brighter than anything he’d ever seen, struck the center of the square, igniting the world with an unbearable blue-white glow. It reminded him vaguely of the light that would filter through his blinds in the early morning. Then, from the center of the bolt, a shadow appeared. As the light slowly diminished, the shadow turned into a figure, which turned into a person, and…

 

Two things Crowley hadn’t felt in a long time returned to him. First, the tug that always told him where Aziraphale was returned to his chest, a slightly foreign and cold feeling compared to the comforting and warm sensation it had provided him just a few weeks ago. Second, a flash of hope seared through his mind, brighter even than the light that had flashed like lightning down from Heaven itself.

 

But the person that stood in front of Crowley was not Aziraphale. Not really, anyway. 

 

He was gaunt and cold, completely different than the warm and inviting angel that Crowley had come to know. Most of his fat had melted away, not necessarily transformed into muscle, but it was gone, casting his face and body in alien shadows. He looked older, somehow. His face was wrinkled, and the typical soft yellow of his hair was now a greasy, grey-ish mop that sat on his head like an unfortunate tangle of thread. He was clad in a silver suit that seemed completely different than his typical eccentric wardrobe. And the gold band that he usually wore on his left ring finger was gone, replaced with a ring of freshly scarred skin.

 

Despite all these disparities, though, it was Aziraphale, his Aziraphale, and he was back and he was alive and it was going to be okay.

 

But then Crowley noticed the flaming sword gripped tightly in his hand, glowing with blue fire. And then he noticed the wings that extended from his back were bedraggled and grey and covered in… blood? And Crowley knew that this wasn’t his Aziraphale. This was something wrong, something twisted, and a cold bolt of fear ran down his spine.

 

“Surrender, demon.” The voice that came from the creature in front of him was chilling and distorted.

 

“Aziraphale?” He responded, nervous for the angel’s response.

 

“Not to you.” The words stung.

 

“Aziraphale, it’s me, Crowley. You know me. We’ve spent… A lot of time together over the years. You know me.” It sounded like a plea.

 

“I have no idea who you are. You’re a threat to heaven and humanity itself. If you won’t accompany me peacefully, then I guess I must put this sword to use.” Crowley’s eyes flicked quickly down to the flaming weapon, and in the split second it took him to process the image, Aziraphale rushed forward, brandishing his weapon.

 

And then they fought. Crowley knew that this Aziraphale was dangerous. He was armed and trained and ruthless beyond even most demons that he knew, and it was terrifying. Crowley didn’t have a weapon of his own so he took to avoiding Aziraphale’s lightning-fast blade.

 

It was dangerous and tiring, but he knew that even if he had a sword, he wouldn’t be able to use it against Aziraphale. Crowley tired quickly, breath coming out in short bursts in the cool night air. He couldn’t think of anything he could do, any trick he could use to challenge Aziraphale without harming or killing him. Then, something dawned on him. He remembered the flash that had brought the angel here and looked around to ensure no one was spectating their combat. When he saw that no one was, he set his mind to a course of action. It would be dangerous, but he didn’t care.

 

In the space between flurries of jabs and swipes from Aziraphale’s sword, Crowley snapped his fingers.

 

In an instant, everything changed. The world turned light once again, illuminated by an unknown source above them. Aziraphale stopped mid-attack, frozen in place. Only his eyes moved, flicking back and forth like a prey animal trapped by a predator. Crowley walked around him slowly, enjoying the moment. Maybe he was a little angry, resentful even, at Aziraphale. Maybe because he abandoned him on Earth alone, when he was okay and alive up in Heaven. And maybe because Crowley hurt so bad that he couldn’t not be angry.

 

“Let me tell you one more time, angel,” Crowley growled, standing in front of Aziraphale now, “We were friends. You know who I am. Now, please, tell me what in Hell’s name has happened to you or I’ll send you back up.” 

 

A flash of fear passed through Aziraphale’s eyes at Crowley’s last words. He had been told that if he didn’t come back with Crowley, they would hurt him. And he had no doubt that they would follow through on that threat.

 

“I don’t know who you are. I never have. And I hope I never will. I won’t tell you what happened to me, but if you’re as smart as you seem to think you are, I bet you can figure it out. Go ahead, send me back. Next time they send me after you, it won’t be to bring you to Heaven. It’ll be to kill you.” Aziraphale’s voice was flinty and strangled. Crowley’s skin erupted in goosebumps for maybe the first time in his entire life. 

 

“Fine.” He said and snapped again.

 

This snap accomplished three things. First, it returned Aziraphale to Heaven. Crowley didn’t know how he knew how to do that, but he did. Second, it extinguished the light that had illuminated them. Third and finally, it transported Crowley back to the place he felt safest. He had originally wanted to go to his apartment, but arriving in the book store was not an unwelcome surprise.

 

He knew what he had to do now if he wanted any chance at getting Aziraphale back. It would be difficult to contact her, he knew that, but he would do anything.

 

He looked around the book store and found a particularly dusty looking book. He ripped a blank page from the back and grabbed a quill from Aziraphale’s old desk, scratching it on the paper a few times to get the ink flowing.

 

The message he wrote was simple enough, but it got his point across. Sealing it with an envelope and a small miracle, Crowley frowned to himself. He would never admit it to anyone, not even himself, but he was scared this wouldn’t work.

 

With his third and final snap of the night, he sent the letter to its recipient, already impatient for the response that could only come in action.

 

\-----  
  


Anathema Device opened her door, expecting to see the person who had rung her doorbell. Instead, a small unassuming envelope sat on her porch. She brought it inside and opened it, eyes widening as she read. It was from Crowley, and it seemed as clear as day that he needed her help.


	2. fated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A plan comes to fruition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I really enjoyed writing this chapter, and I've finally figured out what the heck I'm gonna do with this fic. Or at least, in more depth than I had before.
> 
> Please leave a comment and some kudos if you enjoy!

It took a long time and a lot of tedious studying for Anathema and Crowley to devise a plan. The work was difficult and painful, at least for Crowley, because sitting in Aziraphale’s bookshop, combing through massive shelves of dusty old tomes was exactly what Aziraphale would do, and it thoroughly reminded him of the angel.

 

Also, Crowley had a sneaking suspicion that Anathema would rather do almost anything than work with him. While he wasn’t unintelligent by any definition of the word, Anathema was brilliant and cunning, and despite his superior knowledge of the workings of Heaven and Hell, he often found Anathema doing the heavy lifting instead of him, and on occasion, she even had to explain a few things to him.

 

If it weren’t for the reason behind their prolonged studying, Crowley would have stopped by now.

 

But he would never stop, not if it was for Aziraphale. He would cross every line for him.

 

However, despite the arduous and simply unfortunate nature of their efforts, eventually, Crowley and Anathema came up with something that passed for a plan. Neither of them (particularly Anathema) were hopeful that it would work, but they knew that its success partially would revolve around their optimism, so they tried to keep an open mind.

 

Four days after the initial confrontation between Crowley and Aziraphale, they left the book shop. Anathema carried a large backpack full of books, bottles, and trinkets. Crowley couldn’t even pretend to remember what purposes they served, but as long as Anathema knew, it would be okay. The bag clinked unceremoniously as she walked, and it quickly became irritating, but neither of them mentioned it. Both were ready to do whatever was necessary, including enduring the relentless noise of a backpack.

 

They walked miles in silence, except for when Anathema asked why they didn’t take the Bentley. Crowley didn’t have a good excuse.

 

“Reminds me of Aziraphale.” He responded shortly.

 

She nodded, accepting the answer without questions or comments. This was his grief, his love, and she knew that she had no place to interfere or question it.

 

“He’s not dead, you know.” She said after a while. She knew how painful it must be to him to have lost the one he loves the most, but she was completely confident that this wasn’t just false hope. It would work. It had to if she wanted Crowley to stay alive. Because she knew that as much as he pretended like it wasn’t true, without Aziraphale, Crowley saw no reason to live. And he knew where to find a loaded gun.

 

She didn’t blame him, though. If she were isolated from everyone, sentenced to an eternity without any meaningful interactions, emotions, or events, she would go mad too. And the tantalizing lure of Aziraphale’s return would kill him if it never came about. And Anathema knew that she was the one holding the lure.

 

This was dangerous.

 

She didn’t particularly mind.

 

“I know  _ that _ . But I have no assurance that this plan is gonna get him back for me, now do I?” His tone was bitter and angry. She bit back an angry retort. She didn’t have to be doing this for him, after all. 

 

The building that stood in front of them was imposing and impossibly clean. Its windows and metal walls were so reflective that they barely seemed to exist. It stretched up impossibly high, so even on a rare clear evening like this, Anathema couldn’t see the top. It was an urban monolith, or at least it seemed to be from the exterior. However, she knew that it housed something (or two things) that were even more impressive.

 

This building held the gateways to Heaven and Hell. Under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t know that the building existed, or what it held. Even now, she struggled to concentrate on it. It was almost like her brain was rebelling at the idea that it existed. She knew this was dangerous, but surprisingly enough, it was the most mundane portion of their plan.

 

She waited outside as Crowley stepped in through the large rotating doors. He had told her that if she tried to enter, she would spontaneously combust. She refrained from telling him that that wasn’t what spontaneously meant. 

 

Inside, Crowley tentatively approached the escalator that led to heaven. He knew that once he set this plan into motion, they would only have a few minutes to get where they needed to go. His feet and legs tingled a little as he walked closer. Being this close to Heaven was essentially the same thing as consecrated ground, and had the same effects on him. 

 

Although Anathema held most of the supplies for their ploy, he had the small slip of paper that was essential to this stage. He was close enough now, and the ground burned him as he steadied his nerves and reached forward. 

 

Ever so carefully, he placed the note on the escalator. It rose unceremoniously into Heaven.

 

Crowley couldn’t see it from that angle, but he knew exactly what it said. In his messy handwriting, it read “ _ Come and get me you self-righteous, moronic excuses for Angels” _ . He had signed it ‘you know who I am’. 

 

Then, Crowley ran. He dashed outside, grabbing Anathema and pulling her along with him for a few steps before releasing her. She looks a bit surprised but continued with him. This was the most time-sensitive part of their plot. They needed to get to the place where Aziraphale had been kidnapped before he could come down from Heaven to find them. Of course, if it wasn’t him that they sent, Crowley and Anathema were fucked. But they pointedly chose to ignore that thought as they ran.

 

Along with their research in the bookshop, Crowley had spent a lot of time trying to discover where Aziraphale had been taken from Earth. The energy there would be different, he knew. The magnetic pull he had towards Aziraphale would be warped and strange, and he would be able to feel the hate and fear in the air. Because he knew the angel so well, he could feel his negative emotions, particularly fear. These factors made it easier to identify the place, but when he stumbled upon it, it was still so dark and disconcerting that his stomach had turned and he had left quickly.

 

Now, as they frantically ran to the exact place Aziraphale had been taken, Crowley wished he could be there more than almost anything. 

 

The place in question was a small mom-and-pop restaurant that they had been to once or twice before. He knew Aziraphale had liked it, but he didn’t know that he liked it enough to go back again. Aziraphale had taken pride in his tendency to go to as many different restaurants as he could. Crowley assumed that the Angels had surprised him, but he wasn’t sure. He didn’t really know if he wanted to know how Aziraphale had been taken.

 

In hindsight, he wished he had never learned.

 

They just rounded the corner of the street where the shop resided as a blinding flash of light reached from the sky, arcing and crackling in ferocious tendrils. Once again, the distorted version of Aziraphale stepped out, cracking his neck slowly and holding his sword low. He looked gaunter than before, and a fresh collection of bruises showed themselves on his exposed skin. Despite his injuries, he seemed nonchalant and relaxed. Or at least his expression and gait didn’t reveal the extent to which he was in pain.

 

Crowley would kill those monsters if he could. He would rip them limb from limb, giving them years of agony for every bruise of Aziraphale’s body.

 

He shook his head to clear those thoughts. They were too violent for what he had to do now, and he needed to concentrate.

 

“Aziraphale.” His voice was almost choked with emotion.

 

“Not to you,” The husk responded once again, and Crowley felt his stomach drop out again. He couldn’t do this. He looked over at Anathema, whose brow was creased in concentration. Then he looked back at Aziraphale, a seed of reckless hope blooming in his chest.

 

“Great, perfect. Got it.” Crowley was stalling.

 

“You know, you really have a death wish, don’t you?”

 

Of course he did.

 

“Yep. But I mean, anything for you, right?” It was somewhat true.

 

The husk let out a distorted chuckle. He wheezed a little. Crowley was sure that if Angels could cough up blood, he would. It was obvious that the other Angels had been hurting him, and his previous failure to capture Crowley had certainly exacerbated the issue.

 

“Love, what have they done to you?” Crowley whispered. He hoped that Aziraphale hadn’t heard him.

 

“Not half of what they’ll do to you.” 

 

Then, Crowley heard his cue. A string of muttering came from behind him, signaling that Anathema had begun her incantation. He couldn’t believe that Aziraphale hadn’t noticed her, but if he really had forgotten everything, he supposed that would include their mortal friends. 

 

Crowley snapped.

 

The world went still.

 

Nothing moved, no one breathed, and the only sound in the bustling city was the steady stream of phrases coming from Anathema. Aziraphale looked angry, but he couldn’t move. Crowley had made sure of that.

 

Then, a shock of recognition came into his eyes and the chanting reached a crescendo. Crowley walked over to him, willing with every fiber of his being that using the Principles of Hell on an Angel wouldn’t prove fatal.

 

“Lucifer said that we should all have Free Will, dear Aziraphale. Now, with my power as a Demon, I will restore you yours.” Crowley reached out and placed a single fingertip on Aziraphale’s forehead. A single trickle of dark red blood ran from Aziraphale’s nose, but there was no other movement in the entirety of the world. Then the flaming sword went out. And the world resumed.

 

Aziraphale collapsed to the ground, coughing and shaking. A low moan came from his mouth and Crowley’s heart broke a little bit.

 

A few seconds passed. Then a minute. It felt like an eternity.

 

Then; “Crowley?” His voice was low and raspy and it embodied more pain, more desperation that Crowley had ever seen or heard or felt.

 

“Aziraphale.” He responded and knelt next to the Angel, gently reaching out a hand to touch his back. Aziraphale recoiled and Crowley gasped. He could feel the welts and bruises and potentially even misplaced vertebrae beneath Aziraphale’s clothing.

 

“What did they do to you, my dear?” He asked, voice tender.

 

Aziraphale gently sat up, eyes hollow but full of recognition.

 

“I… can’t say.” Aziraphale rarely withheld things from Crowley.

 

“I’m going to fix it. I’m going to make it okay.” It was a promise, quiet and powerful. Crowley leaned forward, silently asking permission to touch Aziraphale. This time, the angel didn’t recoil. He gently touched his forehead to Aziraphale’s and closed his eyes. He knew it would be okay. They would figure out a plan. It was going to be okay.

 

And for the first time in a long time, Crowley felt the glow of hope in his chest grow, just a little bit. He had Aziraphale back. Maybe it wasn’t solid, maybe it wasn’t perfect, maybe he would lose him again in an instant. But he was here, and it was possible to take him from Heaven once and for all.

 

“I have to go back,” whispered Aziraphale. He seemed resigned.

 

“Next time… We’ll figure it out for next time. I swear, Aziraphale, I swear on our past and our future that this will be the last time you ever have to go back. I swear.” His voice broke on the last few words. Although he couldn’t express it perfectly, he loved Aziraphale so much, and he would rather die a thousand painful deaths than let him return to Heaven, even this once. But it wasn’t up to him, so all he could do was pray to some entity that they would go gently on him. And that he and Anathema could solve this puzzle.

 

The angel took Crowley’s hand in his and tentatively brought it to his mouth. He kissed it gently, an act of intimacy that left Crowley breathless. It was going to be  _ okay _ . They would be okay.

 

Then, Aziraphale was gone once again, and Crowley finally felt the hot tears that ran down his face. 

 

His no-longer-flaming sword lay on the ground a few feet away.

 


	3. sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale's coworkers aren't happy with his failures, and they make sure he knows. In the meantime, Crowley comes up with yet another stupid and dangerous plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you know me you probably expected this, but I've lowkey thrown my plan away and now this is gonna be 5 chapters instead of 4. The last is a form of epilogue though, so I suppose it doesn't fully count, but whatever.
> 
> This chapter does depict violence semi-graphically, so if that's a trigger for you, please avoid reading it! Knives, cuts, burns, and bruises are mentioned, along with various forms of restraints. 
> 
> And, as always, if you enjoy this chapter/the fic in general, please leave a comment and some kudos. It really does mean a lot!

The empty expanse of Heaven enclosed Aziraphale like a cage. He wasn’t exactly claustrophobic in the gargantuan room, but the empty infinity that sprawled out around him felt oppressive and it was exceedingly disconcerting. Gabriel, Uriel, and Michael stood in front of him. Gabriel was speaking. Aziraphale wasn’t listening, not really.

 

“You’ve failed us again, Aziraphale.” A malicious gleam tinged Gabriel’s eyes.

 

Aziraphale offered no response, so the Archangel spoke again.

 

“I don’t even know why we bother. We know you won’t be successful. But at least we don’t have to worry about, you know,  _ emotions _ , anymore.” He said the word emotion with such disdain, and Aziraphale felt a bit of anger flare up. Gabriel was cold like Heaven, and it was awful and angering that he thought Aziraphale’s humanity and even his emotions were inherently wrong. And Gabriel thought that God thought so too. Maybe She did. At least they hadn’t realized that his memory had been restored yet.

 

“If you know I will be ineffectual, why do you continue to send me down?” Aziraphale let his voice go slack and monotone like it was supposed to be. He didn’t want to give the Angels any ideas, but he was curious, after all, and it was probably worth it. Uriel smirked. 

 

“Well, I know you can’t remember this,  _ Aziraphale _ , but Crowley loves you. And I suppose you loved him too if that’s possible. So, you see, even if it takes a few extra tries, seeing the two of you in pain is worth it to me. You’ve been a thorn in my side for a while, and I want to get a little revenge,  _ I suppose _ .” Gabriel’s voice was mocking and condescending. This level of cruelty wasn’t Angelic, but he seemed to execute it so well that it made Aziraphale question his definition of what Angels should be. 

 

And then:  _ Crowley loves me? _

 

The thought was delayed. He decided not to dwell on it. 

 

Then the contempt he felt for Gabriel (and to some degree, Uriel and Michael as well) swelled up again and he had to stifle his anger yet again as he responded with a jerky nod.

 

“Well, regardless, you have to be punished for your failures. Makes it satisfying for us I suppose.” Gabriel gestured, and Aziraphale walked forward. His body already screamed with bruises and cuts and burns, and although he shouldn’t have really been able to feel them, he could and it  _ hurt like Hell _ . He shuddered at the thought of enduring more torture but knew that it was necessary. Crowley would help him, he would save him, Aziraphale had no doubt about that. He had no idea how, but it would be okay. And he would do anything to never have to endure this again. Not only the beating he was sure to receive, but the disdain and cold anger of the Archangels of Heaven and God above him.

 

He wanted to ask why they wanted to capture Crowley.

 

He was sure he could guess the answer though.

 

Gabriel would say something like  _ Well, he caused us harm, with preventing Armageddon and all. So we should make him pay. Plus, he’s a demon. Why do you care,  _ Aziraphale _? _

 

It would blow his cover. And while Aziraphale could handle his own body being injured and abused, he couldn’t let them harm Crowley. That was where he drew the line. And by putting himself in harm’s way, he protected Crowley. No matter how hard it was, he would always protect him. Selfless love was the job of an Angel. But loving Crowley was his job. His purpose. 

 

Uriel and Michael filed in behind Aziraphale as he followed Gabriel forward. He only remembered brief snippets of the room where he would be taken. It was the only room he had seen that was safe from Heaven’s oppressive emptiness, but it was even more terrifying, somehow. The Angels didn’t use miracles to torture Aziraphale. They used their hands and chains and whips and long, curved knives that were sharper than they should be and colder than ice. He shuddered at the thought. At least this wasn’t as bad as the first time. He remembered the first time vividly, unlike the other times they had hurt him.

 

When they had first taken him from Earth, they had made sure he felt it as they stripped away his identity, one slow cut at a time. If an Angel could bleed, he would bleed a river. If he had let himself cry, the floor below him would have been wet with tears.

 

And his wings. Gabriel particularly knew the sensitivity of Aziraphale’s wings and used it to his advantage. Bruises and mottled scabs covered the bases of his wings and chunks of feathers were missing here and there. It took a toll on Aziraphale, all of it did. And while he blocked it out the best he could, he was terrified for the impending torture.

 

These were Angels, for God’s sake. Why were they like this. And why him? It was like Crowley had said to him once when they were very, very drunk. All it took to Fall was to ask one too many questions. But really, wouldn’t Falling be mercy now?

 

The room was dark as they entered. It was made of a dark, splotchy concrete that was practically soundproof. Unlike the rest of Heaven, this room’s claustrophobia was actually warranted. The ceiling was low and the room itself was small, and a rack of blades stood in the corner. It was menacing, but not as intimidating as the relatively tall post that stood in the middle of the room. It had chains attached to it and was splintered and chipping in places, but Aziraphale knew from experience how strong and unyielding it was.

 

He remembered straining against it as the cold touch of metal was dragged across his back and thighs, the manacles that held him roughly tugging at the sensitive skin of his wrists. And he was scared.

 

Gabriel clamped the irons around his wrists and smirked. He always seemed to be smirking.

 

“Oh, Aziraphale. If you weren’t so pathetic, maybe this would be a little more,” He took a few steps back and seemed to consider his words, “Interesting, I suppose.”

 

Then, he gestured to Michael to bring over a long, curved knife with an intricately carved handle. It seemed more like a scythe than anything else. Gabriel walked behind Aziraphale and placed his hand on his skin, right on his scapula. And his wings appeared, unbidden. And he felt the freezing knife. And he didn’t remember anything else.

 

\---

 

Aziraphale didn’t know how much time had passed between his return to Heaven and the next time he was brought to Earth in order to find Crowley. He didn’t know if Crowley and Anathema were ready yet or if they had a plan that could free him from Heaven. Of course, he could always Fall, but… there had to be a better way. There would be a better way. Or at least he told himself there was as the blinding light surrounding him subsided, revealing Crowley with a wicked grin on his lips and a large book in his left hand.

 

“Aziraphale!” He shouted and ran to the Angel. He seemed to want to wrap Aziraphale in an embrace but he decided against it. 

 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale responded, voice soft and a bit raspy. It hurt to speak too loudly. And at his feeble voice, a gleam of hard determination flickered across Crowley’s face. It showed himself in the set of his jaw, his not-unhappy-but-still-frowning-frown, and the small creases that appeared between his eyebrows.

 

Before he could stop them, Aziraphale’s thoughts flickered to what Gabriel had said.  _ He loves you _ , he had said.  _ And you love him _ , he had said. And Aziraphale felt it. His heart poured open at Crowley’s determined face, his forgotten book, his gentle lips and hands, and he knew that Gabriel was right.  _ And I love him _ , Aziraphale thought. And he took Crowley’s unoccupied hand, grasping it very gently.

 

And he looked him in the eyes. And Crowley looked away.  _ And he doesn’t love me _ , Aziraphale thought. 

 

“I think I know what you have to do, angel,” Crowley said. He dropped his book on the ground. Aziraphale would’ve picked it up if this conversation wasn’t so important.

 

Aziraphale tilted his head to the side in response. He tried not to let his fear and sadness show on his face. He knew that Crowley was working so hard for him, to save  _ him _ , and he had to be strong for him. He owed Crowley that, at least.

 

“You’re not going to like it,” Crowley added. It was a warning.

 

In reality, Crowley didn’t like it either. But he knew that his plan would be more difficult for Aziraphale. Crowley felt like he had failed him. He was being so impossibly resilient and brave, enduring Heaven’s tortures and manipulation. Crowley knew instinctively how difficult this was going to be, but he also knew that he had to be strong for Aziraphale. He loved him. He needed him. And he wouldn’t lose him if he had any say in it.

 

“It’s okay dear, just tell me,” Aziraphale prompted.

 

“Well, Anathema and I figured that you can’t just Fall, because we don’t know how it will affect you, your personality and such. Also, there’s no guarantee that Hell would trust you or let you on Earth, so you wouldn’t be in much of a… better situation. They probably wouldn’t torture you though,” Crowley looked angry as he said the last bit. 

 

He continued, “So, here’s the unpleasant part. I know you won’t like it. Hear me out, angel. We need to sever our connections with Heaven and Hell.”

 

Aziraphale looked slightly confused.

 

“Like… Go to Earth permanently? Or, well, that kind of sounds like Falling.” 

 

Crowley winced, then continued. He was rather unhappy that he had to spell it out to Aziraphale, but only because it almost hurt to say out loud.

 

“We need to become human.”

 

Aziraphale practically gasped. He looked shocked, abhorred even, but the emotions quickly melted off his face, leaving an impenetrable and dispassionate expression behind. Aziraphale had recently become accustomed to hiding his emotions.

 

“And how would we go about that, Crowley.” His voice was low and sad sounding. Aziraphale knew that this may be the only solution. But he didn’t know if it was better than returning to Heaven and enduring the torture over and over again. Because he knew that he would never give them Crowley, not of his own free will. 

 

“Talk to God.”

 

“I’ve tried that. Trust me, Metatron is not particularly forgiving.”

 

“I’m not talking about Metatron, Aziraphale. We need to speak with God Herself. And… I don’t know how to do that.”

 

Aziraphale took a step back. He and Crowley had been quite close to each other, so the new distance between them was slightly foreign. Aziraphale preferred being close.

 

He sighed. “Crowley, I know how to speak to Metatron, but there’s no guarantee that he’ll let us speak to God. In fact, a roughly 0% chance that he’ll let us speak to God.”

 

“That’s where the rest of my idea comes in.”

 

“This is going to be a bad idea, isn’t it.”

 

“I’m wounded. Truly, hurt. Now, what we have to do is insult Metatron and God until She speaks to us Herself.” 

 

Aziraphale looked astonished. Absolutely dumbstruck.

 

“I’ve known you for a long time, Crowley, but that has to be the stupidest thing you’ve ever said to me.” He laughed a little. It hurt his ribs so he stopped.

 

“Have any better ideas?”

 

“I mean, no. But we can’t do this, I can’t do this. How do I know that you’re even telling me the truth? There could be another way and you’re hiding it from me. I don’t trust you, demon.” The words hurt Aziraphale to say. They weren’t exactly true, but he was scared and in pain, and he would do this if Crowley said it was the only way, but it meant that he had no idea what his future would hold.

 

Instantly, something changed in Crowley and he lunged forward like he had done so many weeks, months, ago. He grabbed Aziraphale’s collar, and Aziraphale was sure he would have shoved him against a wall if there was one nearby. This time, Aziraphale was scared. 

 

“Don’t ever question my loyalty to you,  _ angel _ . I don’t want this any more than you do. But I will do it.  _ Trust me _ .”

 

“I- Okay.” Aziraphale’s heart fluttered in his chest a little bit as he stared at Crowley’s sunglasses. He wished he could take them off of the demon and see his eyes. He wished he could do so many things at that moment.

 

Crowley let go of Aziraphale and dusted his hands off on his pants. 

 

“Well, I guess we’re doing this,” said Aziraphale, his voice jittery and nervous.

 

“I guess we are,” Crowley whispered, almost as an afterthought. 

 

“I think I know where we should start. We don’t have a lot of time.”


End file.
